The Changing of the Guard
by Gramarye
Summary: Companion piece to "Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light". Between Chapters Two and Three, between the time when Harry lost consciousness and awoke in a strangely familiar room, an interesting little drama took place....


This short piece is the first of three projected side stories to "Harry  
Potter and the Legacy of the Light". If you've ever wondered exactly   
what happened in the space of time between Chapters Two and   
Three, wonder no longer. Enjoy!

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and   
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.   
Rowlings, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in   
its creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising"   
series are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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The Changing of the Guard  
(A "Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light" Companion Piece)  
By: Gramarye

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The last thing [Harry] heard before his senses deserted him was   
a deep murmuring, and the thready voice saying in a low snarl,   
quite different from its original tone:

"Those blasted Muggles--good riddance to them."

-- "Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light", Chapter Two

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I hadn't expected such a dramatic reaction, but then again from  
what I knew of Harry Potter he was not known for doing things   
by halves. 

The boy's legs gave way beneath him as he swayed and started to   
fall backwards. The cage slipped from his slackening fingers, and   
thesnowy owl within let out a startled, angry squawk as the cage   
hit the ground.

Fortunately, I had set the trunk on the front walk before ringing the   
bell, and was able to break his fall somewhat. As he collapsed into  
my arms, Arabella threw open the door all the way.

"Get him in, get him in!" she hissed, grabbing for the cage. "The   
neighbours might see you!"

Manoeuvring boy, cage, and trunk through the narrow front doorway   
and into the tiny foyer was no small task, especially not with an elderly   
woman who seemed to be doing her best to block my every move.   
She slipped behind me and slammed the door the second both boy   
and belongings were inside, and immediately began to slide locks   
and deadbolts into place. 

I stood and waited, holding him, until the last chain latch had slid   
home and she had turned to face me.

Her hair was starting to come loose from the mass of hairpins on top   
of her head, and wisps of grey were falling into her face and sticking   
out every which way. Her expression was flat and unreadable, but I   
noticed that she did not meet my gaze. Her attention was fixed on the  
unconscious child in my arms.

"Come along," she said brusquely, with a jerk of her head toward the   
back of the house. "You can put him upstairs."

* * *

My 'upstairs' was the guest bedroom Harry had used when he was   
younger. Living in a glorified two-up-two-down doesn't allow much  
room for visitors, but he'd stayed so often that it was easier to set up   
a bed for him than to put him on a couch with blankets.

Not that he would have minded either way. Anything was better than   
a cupboard under the stairs.

The floorboards creaked like a shot as Stanton started to climb the   
stairs behind me.

"Watch your head," I warned him, over my shoulder. "The ceiling's   
lower than it looks."

Dutifully, he bent his head, and held the boy closer to his chest.

We reached the top without incident, and I led him the few steps  
to the closed bedroom door.

"Through here." I opened the door and felt for the light switch.   
Since it was starting to get dark outside, and the bedroom was   
on the side of the house that only caught the morning sunlight,   
the room looked like the inside of a cave. Flicking the switch   
didn't help--with the lights on, the room looked like the inside  
of a half-lit cave.

I made a note to add brighter bulbs to my shopping list.

I'd given the house a good scrubbing only a few days before, so   
the room was dusted and the sheets on the spare bed were freshly   
laundered. I set to work at once, plumping pillows and turning down  
blankets, drawing the curtain and fiddling with the bedside clock,   
all nice domestic tasks that I could use as a cover to have a better  
look at both of them.

Stanton was impossibly immaculate. He looked none--good god,   
did his trousers still have the creases in them?--none the worse for   
carrying a dead weight up a full flight of stairs. And the bland look   
on his face didn't fool me for a second--I could feel his eyes on me   
the entire time, watching me as I ran about the room like some half-  
trained chambermaid.

Harry, on the other hand, looked a mess. He was wearing a shirt   
and trousers that had probably once belonged to his fat slob of a   
cousin. But even allowing for Muggle togs several sizes too big, he  
seemed to be swimming in his clothes. What was more, he was too   
thin, and his face had no colour to it. He looked like one of those   
awful leaflets they post in the shops with starving children's faces   
on them, hungry and haunted eyes staring at you accusingly from   
a smearily-printed sheet of paper. 

I suddenly found myself feeling very glad that his eyes were closed.

Stanton waited until I'd arranged the sheets and pillows before laying   
Harry down on the bed. He made short work of things then, removing   
only the boy's shoes and glasses before pulling the bedclothes up to  
his neck. It was just as well--I didn't have any night clothes for him   
to wear, and we'd left his trunk downstairs.

There was something rather odd about the two of them, Harry lying   
in the bed and Stanton standing over him, doing little things to make   
him more comfortable. Adjusting the blankets. Loosening the collar   
of his shirt. Putting the glasses on the night table, the shoes beneath the   
bed. He soon finished tucking Harry in, but before he straightened up   
he paused, one hand resting on the boy's forehead.

"Sleep easy, child," he murmured, so softly that I almost didn't hear   
him at first. "You're safe here."

Harry made a little noise that sounded like a gasp or a sigh, and   
seemed to sink deeper beneath the bedclothes.

I had to ask the obvious question, of course, but for some reason   
it didn't want to come out. When it finally did, it sounded more like   
a frog's death croak than actual human speech. "Did...did you...." 

"No," he said in the same quiet voice, not taking his eyes off the   
boy. "It's a natural sleep, fortunately. From the look of things, it's   
something he hasn't had in some time." 

Now, I know for a fact that Stanton has no family of his own, but   
as his hand moved to brush the hair out of Harry's shuttered face   
he looked exactly like a father putting his child to bed. 

At that point it was only a good half-century of rigorous training   
that kept me from shivering.

And the fact that he was wearing glasses didn't help matters, either.  
As he stepped away from the bed, he passed between me and the   
window, and the weak light from one of the table lamps caught and   
reflected in the lenses of his glasses. 

Hell's bells. For half a second, he looked far too much like James  
Potter for anyone's comfort.

"....the clock round." 

I blinked, and there he was, right in front of me. He'd been talking  
the whole time, and I'd been so busy woolgathering and seeing   
ghosts that I'd missed whatever it was he'd said to me.

"Eh? What was that?" Brilliant response, Figg. Now he'll think   
you're deaf, as well as mad.

"I said, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he slept the clock round."   
He gave me a Very Concerned look. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, and turned toward the door. He may   
think what he likes, but he'll see soon enough that I've not forgotten  
how to entertain company. Even his kind of company. "Come into   
the kitchen--you'll stay for tea."

* * *

It was not an invitation; it fell more along the lines of a royal command.  
I followed her into the hall and down the stairs, pausing only to pick   
up my briefcase from the front hall before following her into the kitchen.

The electric kettle on the kitchen countertop looked to be more   
of an electrocution kettle--it was sitting in a shallow pool of water  
that looked ready to overflow the counter and drip onto the floor.  
Muttering a few choice words, Arabella ripped the plug out of its   
outlet, then tossed a dishcloth at the kettle to soak up the spilled   
water. She grabbed a regular kettle and began to fill it from the tap,   
keeping her back to me the entire time.

"What a charming place you have here," I said, falling back on the   
usual social niceties to break her self-imposed silence. "I must say,   
it's very...." I turned a few possible adjectives over in my mind, and   
settled on one that I thought suited the situation best. "Muggle."

"Don't you start." She flung the kettle onto the cooker to boil and  
spun around, levelling a glare at me. "Now, what's going on?"

From the moment she had opened the front door, I'd been wondering  
if she had any idea as to what she was expected to do this summer.   
Her question merely clinched the matter.

Well. That would change things considerably. 

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said, only half hearing myself.  
I would have to leave a note; there was no sense in waking the boy   
unnecessarily. 

"My guess?" She squinted at me, and folded her arms across her chest.   
"Well, I don't have Harry Potter keeling over on my front doorstep   
every day, y'know. And I certainly don't have Will Stanton showing   
up with him and acting like a delivery man who's just popped round   
to drop off a parcel, either."

"Indeed." She was right, at that. "Would you mind if I sat down?"

* * *

I wouldn't have minded throttling him if I hadn't known that it wouldn't   
do me any good. The Boy Who Lived (and I hope they sacked the   
brilliant journalistic mind who first dreamed up that disgusting turn of  
phrase) was upstairs doing his best impression of a wet dishrag, and   
Stanton had the nerve to sit there and dig through his briefcase as if   
he hadn't a care in the world.

Perhaps he didn't realise the situation I was in.

"First of all," I said to him, trying to keep my voice low and even, "I   
get a letter from Albus Dumbledore, asking if I would be so kind as   
to let Sirius Black spend a day or two with me on the way to meet   
up with his old friend, Remus Lupin."

He had pulled out a sheet of paper from somewhere, and a pen, and   
now he was tapping the pen with his finger and frowning.

"Damn," he murmured, and glanced up at me. "I seem to be out of   
ink. Could I trouble you for a pen?"

There was a biro on the counter, the one I'd used to mark that   
morning's paper. I nearly snapped it in two before I could pick  
it up properly and hand it to him.

"Thank you," he said as he took it from me. He resettled his glasses  
on his nose, and started to write.

Perhaps I needed to make myself a bit more clear.

"And then, just as I've finished adjusting exactly twenty-seven   
distinctly complicated wards to allow a CONVICTED MURDERER   
to pass through them, I find out that Black's an Animagus, of ALL  
things, and I have to let a ruddy great DOG kip on my nice clean  
couch and do you know how much a beast like that SHEDS?" Stick   
to the facts, woman--he's not going to care about dog hair on your  
furniture. "And of course he up and vanishes in the middle of the night   
without so much as a by-your-leave, and he's not been gone two days   
when I get ANOTHER lovely letter from Albus that purports to be   
an explanation but makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, and now   
I've got Harry Potter out cold in my spare bedroom and the bloody   
Watchman of the Light sitting at my kitchen table and he's not even   
LISTENING to me!"

"I have been listening, madam," he said, though he never took his   
eyes from the paper and the pen never stopped moving. "I only   
wanted to finish this note to Mr. Potter in case you'd rather I   
left...before the neighbours saw."

* * *

It wasn't easy to keep from smiling when her jaw dropped open. 

I knew that I was being rather unfair to her. She had, after all, spent   
fifteen years living amongst non-magical folk, completely isolated,  
unable to use her power for even the smallest of tasks. And now she   
had been confronted by her old life just when the wizarding world was  
in a state of confusion--and a state of denial that there was anything   
to be confused about. 

On the other hand, anyone who agrees to operate undercover ought   
to keep in mind that they will have to come out someday. Today had  
simply happened to be Arabella Figg's day.

The kettle went off just then, a whistling blast of steam that jolted   
Arabella out of her stunned immobility. Without a word, she picked   
up the kettle and poured a little bit of the boiling water into an old   
china teapot. She swirled the water in the teapot and emptied it into  
the sink, then repeated the process. 

The splash of water and the clanking of spoons against crockery  
were the only noises in the room as I finished the letter. I took an  
envelope from my bag, slipped the folded sheet inside and sealed   
the whole thing. I glanced up to see Arabella gazing out the tiny  
kitchen window, fingering the edge of the faded curtain with one   
hand.

"Incorrigible snoops, the lot of them," she grunted, without any of  
the anger of a moment before. "Always peering through their lacy   
little curtains and poking their noses over your garden fence."

"It sounds tiresome," I commisserated.

She let out a short, barking laugh. "I can't believe I'm telling you this,  
but I've almost gotten used to it." Turning, she picked up an empty   
mug and waved it in front of my nose. "Black or white?"

"Black, no sugar." 

I watched as she poured a generous amount into the mug and set it  
before me. "Thank you," I said. "That's most kind."

She poured for herself and added two spoonfuls of sugar from the   
bowl on the table. "Now you tell me," she said firmly as she sank into   
the chair opposite mine, "what's this all about? Did Albus send you?"

"Send me?" The idea of being regarded as Albus Dumbledore's   
personal courier service was hardly an appealing one. "Quite the   
contrary. I was heading into town today and happened to travel by   
way of King's Cross. Since the Hogwarts summer holidays started   
today as well, Mr. Potter was also at the station when I arrived." I   
sipped at the strong, scalding tea, letting it wash the taste of envelope  
adhesive out of my mouth. "Coincidentally, we happened to be   
travelling in the same direction."

"Hmph." The look on her face was deeply skeptical. "That's a likely   
story. Nothing's ever coincidence with YOU."

"We happened to be travelling in the same direction," I repeated, very   
deliberately, "so I offered to share a taxi. I was present when he was   
unceremoniously turned away from Privet Drive. I knew you were  
living close by, and I thought you would rather have him here with   
you than anywhere else." Which was mostly true.

Her expression grew stormy. 

"Blasted Muggles," she growled. I couldn't tell whether she was   
referring to the ones currently living on Privet Drive or the ones  
who had left. For that matter, it could have easily been both.

"Quite. But for a boy who's supposed to be the saviour of the   
wizarding world, he really ought to be better supervised." It wasn't   
entirely my place to say so, but considering the fact that he had been   
left essentially to his own devices in the middle of a north London   
train station I felt that the point had to be made. "He would have   
followed me wherever I led him. I could have handed him over to  
Voldemort himself, and he wouldn't have known...or cared."

* * *

That did it. I wasn't about to sit with my hands in my lap and be   
lectured like a spotty-faced schoolgirl--not by THIS creature,   
certainly.

"Look, I heard they'd done a bunk," I snapped at him. "Sent in   
a report about it, too, through the usual channels. I thought that   
Albus had made other arrangements for him."

"Other arrangements?" He raised an eyebrow at that. "But you are   
Mr. Potter's legal guardian, am I right?" 

Oh. Oh. So that's what he was getting at. Why couldn't he just SAY   
so and be done with it, like any sensible person? 

"In Muggle eyes...yes," I had to admit. "But if Black is...no, that's a   
stupid question." I shook my head. "I'm left holding the baby in this,   
then."

He actually smiled at that, though the smile was mostly hidden behind   
the rim of his mug. "In a manner of speaking."

Well, whatever manner it was said in, it still made no sense. "I thought   
for certain Albus would have him live with those Weasley friends of his.  
At least until everything else was sorted out."

He took another sip and set his mug aside. "With the events of the last   
few weeks, could you blame him for the oversight? He is only human,   
after all."

I don't know what possessed me to say the first thing that came into my  
head, but I did. "Why does that sound like an insult, coming from you?" 

His eyes narrowed, and I would've sworn that I could hear him bristle. 

"Really, madam," he said coldly, fixing me with a frigid stare. "You   
know me better than that."

"Do I?" I'd meant my reply to come out in the same cold tone he'd   
used, but it didn't sound quite the same.

He studied me with that icy glint of his for few more seconds, then   
closed his eyes. When he opened them again a second later the ice   
was gone, as if it had never been there at all--and somehow that made  
my skin crawl more than his accusing stare had.

"I would hope so," he said, as easily as if the last half-minute hadn't   
happened. "But speaking of knowing, I must say that I'm a bit confused   
as to why you seem so surprised to see me. I would have thought that   
the perimeter wards you spoke of would have detected me."

I scowled at him, and drained my own mug. "My wards are designed   
to detect wizards and witches and any number of Dark creatures...not   
you." And that raised another unsettling thought--what else could have   
slipped past them? I'd nearly taken Black's sorry pelt off his back when   
he told me that he'd been the one who'd set off the wards two years ago,   
but it didn't change the fact that he'd still come far too close to Harry.

And there was that damnable hint of a smile again. "As there's only one   
of me, you can hardly be faulted for that."

"You know what I mean," I said, scooping up the mugs and half-empty   
teapot before shoving my chair away from the table. "You. Your sort, of  
which you happen to be the only one. And don't look at me like I've just  
been and gone and fallen asleep in your class--there's absolutely no reason   
for you to be following Harry Potter around. He's not your responsibility."

I turned the tap, and the water drumming into the sink nearly drowned out  
his reply:

"Isn't he?"

* * *

"Of course he's not yo--"

There was a clatter and a stifled crash, as if she had tried and failed to   
catch the crockery that slipped from her fingers and fell into the sink. She   
gripped the edge of the counter with one hand, and with the other she   
fumbled for the tap to turn off the running water. 

The rush of water gurgled down the drain, and there was silence in the   
kitchen for a long moment.

"I'm a stupid old woman," she said at last, a statement that sounded more  
like a long sigh. "I should have guessed as much. Some guardian I've turned  
out to be, eh?"

"The wizarding world does not have the resources to fight the Dark Lord  
alone." I didn't want her thinking that she'd somehow been derelict in her   
duties. "Voldemort has called upon powers that only the Light knows   
how to combat--it would be perfectly logical for his opponents to seek   
the assistance of the Light."

She turned around and leaned against the counter. One corner of her   
mouth twitched upwards in a quirk of smile. "So what you're saying is   
that Albus decided it was high time to call in the professionals?"

"You can think of it that way, if you like," I replied dryly. "Though you   
must admit that my rates are better and I'm not one for long tea-breaks."

She chuckled at that, and looked a little less dour. "What a way to start  
the summer."

"To put it mildly."

A shadow suddenly crossed her face, and she glanced up at the ceiling.   
"Say, is he...all right? I mean...you know...all right?"

"That I don't know," I admitted truthfully. "He was in a bad way when I   
first met him, and today's events won't have helped matters any. But a   
summer spent with you will do him a world of good." 

That said, I picked up my briefcase and stood, pushing in my chair. "And  
now I really must be going."

* * *

"Going?" Talk about an abrupt way to end a conversation. "Where are you   
off to?"

He clasped his hands on top of his briefcase. "I've done what I came for.   
Mr. Potter is home, or in as close to a home as he has at the moment. And   
with Mrs. Arabella Figg to watch over him, no one need fear for his safety   
and comfort."

I didn't know whether to blush or smack him for the flattery, so I simply   
said, "If you say so."

He held out the sealed envelope that held the letter he'd written. "Will you   
give this to him for me? And please tell him I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

"To Harry?" I took the envelope and turned it over in my hands. "What does  
it say?"

"That he should listen to every word you say and not make any trouble for   
you," he replied genially.

"Harry Potter, make trouble?" I had to laugh as I walked him to the door  
and started to undo all the locks. "You know full well that he doesn't have   
to MAKE it."

"Very true." He paused with his hand on the doorknob, and looked me full   
in the face. "Take care, madam. I'm certain Mr. Potter will have a number   
of questions to ask you when he wakes. You know where I can be found,   
if you have need of me."

"Let me see if I can translate that into something approaching normal   
speech," I said with a smirk. "'Watch your back, don't fuss the boy too   
much, and I'll be spending the entire summer shut up in my office.' That   
about right?"

"Close enough." He took my hand, and gave a little bow over it in the   
old-fashioned way that he had. (It reminded me of when I was a girl,   
of the way my father's friends would do the same thing when they left   
after calling at our house.) "Thank you for the tea, and good evening to  
you."

And he was gone, and the door closed behind him.

My mind was racing as I started to lock up, but I hadn't even turned   
the first deadbolt when all of a sudden I remembered that Stanton and  
Harry had both come in a taxi. That taxi would have been long gone   
by now--and it was a long walk to London.

Hastily, I opened the door, and called after him. "Should I call a--?"

But there was no one there. The street was completely deserted,   
without so much as a stray dog in sight.

"...cab," I finished, rather lamely.

Well, that was that. 

Oh, well. No sense in worrying about him--he'd get to wherever he   
had to go all right. My concern was for the one upstairs...or rather,   
what I was going to feed him when he woke up and wanted to know  
what he was getting for breakfast.

But Stanton did have a point. Harry was his responsibility, and mine,  
too, and I knew what my responsibility was. Those blasted Muggles had   
treated the boy like dirt all his life, and now that he was in my keeping   
he was going to have a real summer holiday for once.

Hmph. Trust a Watchman to let you know when the watching stops   
and the doing begins.

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Gramarye  
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk  
  
May 3rd, 2003


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